


Ethereal and Occult Games

by Kaz3313



Series: Good Omens Movie Rewrite [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Rewrite of the Movie Script
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22561483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaz3313/pseuds/Kaz3313
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale may not have a perfect life on Earth (Crowley finds running a club is not as exciting as he thought and Aziraphale finds that he'd rather have his museum all locked up) but it's much better then whatever Heaven and Hell have to offer. At least they can play their chess in relative peace. However, Crowley becomes uneasy and is worried doom will be upon themAKA: A rewrite of the Horrendous Movie Script
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Movie Rewrite [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623313
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	Ethereal and Occult Games

Long ago good and evil were ultimately decided. Everyone was put side by side shoulder to shoulder and then a line was drawn. A distinction between light and dark. There was equal good as there was bad; Mirroring and paralleling each other. 

Which brings us to the two immortals at hand. One forcibly decided of pure good and the other of despicable evil. An angel and a demon, who both took the form of man, and they were playing chess.

“ Three hundred, twelve thousand and nineteen,” He had white curls that bounced right below his ears and wore clothes of cream colour. He wore dainty glasses that the other had tried to convince him not to buy as they were ‘old man glasses’. He would always reply with ‘ well we are rather old.’ He sat up with impeccable posture and left his hands in his lap; his thumbs, nails manicured to perfection, twiddling. Anyone would easily gain the impression he was a friendly wise man. Which was all true, as he tended to be friendly with most and centuries gave him wisdom, except for the whole “man” business. Angels and demons were sexless unless they made a great deal of effort and even then the categories wouldn’t be so limiting to ‘man’ or ‘women’. 

“What?” The other sat across the table and he was the yin to the others yang. With every clothing piece that had a soft cream his was obsidian black. He made up for any good posture in the room as he was hunched over so much he appeared to lay on the table. His nails were nicely done, like his counterparts, but with a coat of paint on the tips, fiery red. He wore glasses as well but these were sleek and shaded. The kind you see at the mall that are so overly-priced you wonder if they have any special features compared to the ones you can buy at convenience stores. 

Some may say they were perfect polar opposites. Others, the ones who are a bit brighter than the average population, would say they are two sides of the same coin.

“That is how many games, including this one, we have played. Since the arrangement, of course” He moved his knight, threatening the others rook. It gave a flare of hope that if he was able to take such a major piece out he may be able to triumph this game.

“Well, angel, what’s the score?” The demon, as the others nickname wasn’t an ironic kind, gave a small smirk. Technically his turn was over, as he discreetly moved his rook out of harm, but his companion didn’t seem to notice so he took another move taking out the knight. It was not only another move but technically an “illegal” one as well. He never was called out on it and it has become commonplace for him to make moves of that nature. 

“ You know the score as well as I do, Crowley,” He pursed his lips as he took his fallen knight between his thumb and gripped by forefingers. His thumb circled where the ‘eye’ of the horse-like piece would be. The piece was old and carven from birch but it was still as solid as the day it was first made. However some of the more intricate details were lost with years of use and it being the usual piece to be subjected to rubbing. “ Three hundred, twelve thousand and eighteen to nil. Hopefully today will be the day it will be three hundred, twelve thousand and eighteen to one.”

“Maybe,” Crowley continued to watch as the gears turned in the angels head. His face always hardened into seriousness and he always looked as if this was to be the most important decision to be made.Though it was nice to see the angel in thought it was a bit unnerving of how cold he looked. It reminded him that Aziraphale, gentle Aziraphale, was still a powerful angel; a friendly foe. At times of these Crowley would take it upon himself to start chatting on about what has been taking his time since their last meeting. “ Nightclub is still in business, didn’t expect so much popularity. Think I might pass it off to another person soon become kinda… y’know, eh,” He struggled for a word.

“Hardwork?” Suggested the angel.

“No, pretty easy,” Crowley said.

“Boring?” He continued.

“Little, but with the lights and music and change it doesn’t stay stagnant for too long,” Crowley insisted, though he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince. He didn’t necessarily want this to be the main topic at hand anyway. He had something important to tell him. Unfortunately, it was ominous in nature. 

“Ah, I think I got it,” Crowley tilted his head in wait but instead of getting another suggestion the white queen was moved. 

“Anyway, might give it to Tiff. Or maybe Mel. Anyone but me,” Crowley looked back at the board with a critical eye. Nothing, even slight cheating, wouldn’t gain him anything grand immediately. His hand hovered above a pawn, his fingernail’s tip just touching the top. “Everything is going to well,”

“It’s really anyone’s game, my dear,” Actually, by the looks of it, it was most definitely going to be Crowley’s game. However the ex guardian of the eastern game, refused to give up hope.

“Not that,” Crowley sighed, his slight grin turning downward. “I mean this world; something is going to go terribly wrong” He moved the pawn.

“Just like a demon, humanity has gotten further than ever thought. Most people can be comfortable nowadays. Not only that but they’ve made beautiful wonderful things yet the only thing you can say is how wrong everything is going to turn. People are paranoid enough but I expect they’ll think of something quick for all the global warming and poverty and illness. If not, they’ll at least develop a new Iphone,” Aziraphale had tried to swear off senseless worries; he wasn’t as successful as he thought he was, he started to feel sweat start to accumulate on his forehead. He knew Crowley was creeping into the serious territory of their conversations. As much as Aziraphale wished he knew it was inevitable. 

“Hell! What about Hell? What about Heaven? They’ve been silent for too long,” Crowley hissed and, because his friend had yet to make a move, he moved his queen. He couldn’t wrap his mind how he could forget the always looming threat of their sides. “Checkmate, Aziraphale.”

“Good game… sometimes I think the angels forgot about me being placed here. After Jesus and such I haven’t gotten as much as a letter,” Aziraphale’s expression was hard to pinpoint here. A hint of sadness but also a bit of relief. Being forgotten was just as much of a blessing as it was a curse. 

“Well maybe the angels are bumbling prissy fools but Satan keeps tabs with me. It’s become worse since the whole Jesus thing. He started to pay more attention to this mudball,”

“Earth isn’t a mudball, it’s mostly water,”

“That’s why it's mud and not dirt. Anyhow, it’s not bad that it's a mudball. It’s better than a gasball ,cause at least there’s some grip to it. Acidballs aren’t pleasant, neither are lavaballs-” 

“Yes, yes, I understand your point… if your hunch is correct contact me and we’ll meet up at the park or maybe I’ll finally go to thatclub of yours. Otherwise I’ll see you..?”

“Next week, good time?” 

“Later in the afternoon. I have to meet with some curators in the morning. Apparently the Smithsonian wants to borrow an item for its new rare art exhibit,” Crowley knew of the people from all over the world who sought after anything Aziraphale had. 

“How will that go?”

“They’ll be very disappointed,” That got Crowley to do a classic smirk and even half a chuckle.

“Never change, angel,” With that he sauntered out, hips swinging. 

*

Crowley always stopped to look at some of the paintings; they were lovely, most commissioned over the years. The first one in the hall was actually one of the latest made.

It was a painting of Eden, or a mix of what humans thought Eden looked like and Azriphale’s best description of it. The eyes would first see Adam and Eve, center and clinging to one another. They had apple cores lay at their feet. Then the line of visage would travel to an angel with long locks of white (Crowley remembered the hair well, he always wondered why Aziraphale decided to lob it all off and never grow it back). He stood on the garden wall, flaming sword in hand. Crowley had gotten stuck staring, the first time he saw it, trying to analyze what exactly the mood of the angel was. It took awhile for him to find the black snake that was tucked in the corner of the painting. He was partially hidden by the greenery and if the picture could move it was clear he was traveling toward the garden wall. On the edge of the snake's face were small little sunglasses; Aziraphale said the artist almost refused to draw them, and said ‘they destroyed the paintings seriousness’. A thousand more dollars gave her a change of heart. 

Crowley said “it’s rather ridiculous and inaccurate” when he saw it and the angel shrugged and replied “But it’s funny! Like a little inside joke!”.

The next art on the wall wasn’t a painting; instead it was a stone tablet. On the tablet were two simple cave figures, one outlined in black and the other in white. The most interesting thing of the figures were the wings sprouting out of their backs, the white one’s wing was sheltering the black silhouette. The creator of the piece was unknown, as Aziraphale had found it after it was painted. The two still wondered what humans would have seen them that rainy seventh day. Crowley always put his money on Eve, perceptive was that one.

A painting was next and despite the horrid event going on it’s bright colours gave it a flare of excitement. Animals of all shapes and sizes, only two of each, filled the canvas. Even a unicorn could be found with enough searching, though there was only one of those. There were only two visable people among the crowds of creatures. They both wore long robes, one of all white and one of black. Most people who’d seen the painting, quite honestly not many were able to, assumed this was Noah and his wife. A particularly young child of ten, she’d been here while her mother was trying to buy an object from Aziraphale , had commented that it couldn’t be Noah and his wife because they both looked like boys. Her mother had ignored her and not even ten minutes later she was kicked out. It was Crowley’s least favorite of the paintings; it didn’t bother to show the aftermath of the scene. Sure there had been a rainbow but there had been piles of bodies. And the rotten stench of death. Besides the fourteenth century and a few tradeys here and there it was his least favorite time. 

Another painting followed, this one more appropriately somber in tone and colour. It was the scene of the Crucifixion. Jesus, and it looked like him too unlike how everyone in recent times depicted him, was on the cross and the world around him was bleak and dreary. The sky held no colour besides grey and the ground was void of any life. The crowd gathered was rather small but two people stuck out like sore thumbs. One because of her red striking hair (the only other red in the picture was blood). The other because, even for the time, his clothes were outdated and he was the only one in white. You could see them both on the brink of tears. 

A party was the next. Technically it was just an oyster bar but the artist had taken some liberties in it. There were people dancing and laughing. A few were kissing. All in all it was full to the brim with joy and love (Crowley would argue there was lots of sin as well though never gave a specific example). It was nothing like how the scene had actually looked at the time, it was only the two of them with an exasperated cook, but Crowley found that the painting had captured the feeling perfectly. The most accurate bit was the center of the painting where two men were dining. One, like all the others before and after it, was in all black while another in all white. Between them was a checkers board, a precursor to their routine chess, and it was an even game so far (if memory served Crowley correct, Aziraphale had won that game but since it was before the arrangement they never counted it. Also, it wasn’t chess). Aziraphale had almost been cross, as besides a few inside jokes he wanted them to be as accurate as possible, but ultimately found the love painted within. He, however, did always (and forever) hate the name of it. Crowley had suggested it to the young painter and, wanting his commission money, said “alright” (or the equivalent of the time). “ First Temptation,” People were rather confused by the name and questioned it. The only reply Aziraphale had ever grumbled out was “ He’d never had oysters before. ”

A tapestry of a battle of knights followed. In this one, people of light grey armour and black filled the woven art. However, only two knights in the top corner did not fight. At least not in the aggressive way, if Crowley looked carefully he could tell by body language looked they were arguing. Perhaps it wasn’t noticeable and it was just insider knowledge, either way it stood out from everything else.

Before he could admire the rest that lined the halls, his phone buzzed; trouble at his overrated club. Sighing, he snapped, and suddenly in the streets of London drove his Bently gliding through traffic. 

*

“We’ll always stand out,” Aziraphale said during one of their previous games, it was one of their first post-Arrangement “It’s the supernatural in us, our sides leaking out to reality.”

“I guess we’re more alike than I first thought,” Crowley replied.

“No, no, we are still separate. We just…” He’d tapped the board “It’s like this board you see. I am always the white pieces and you are always the black ones,”

“Fits my aesthetic? So what I can play your pieces,” He moved one of the pieces backward and Azirapahle never moved it back.

“I’m just saying our sides are always opposite; always fighting. And Humanity is just in the crossfire,”

“Are we fighting now angel?” Crowley asked “Check,”

“Well, we’re competing. Same difference,” Azripahel moved his King (that shouldn’t have been there in the first place) away from the attack. 

“ So... we must be enemies? ” Crowley asked but Aziraphale didn’t reply.

The rest of the game was played in silence.

Talk of sides tended to end sour so the two avoided it as much as demonly and angely possible. Every once and awhile Aziraphale mentioned that Heaven still hadn’t given him any more direction and Crowley would say that Hell was asking for too much (but they generally got it wrong anyway) and the conversation would end at that. General complaints were fine and welcome but once they got to the nitty gritty sides business neither were very happy.

They knew what would happen when their sides decided to start the War. The ultimate chess game; the one they were both merely pawns on opposite ends. There would be no more friendly competitions and little did they know…

The End was almost upon them. 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't believe I'll be writing the whole movie out but rather the scenes with Crowley and Aziraphale (or any scenes I thought has potential)! If I write differnt scenes it will be in a series 😊💕


End file.
